sleazyyyy
Warmer when the kitsch of rot hits the stomach
- May 10, 2026
- 11
I can't, for the love of God, keep carrying this grief like it was sewn into my skin. I wanted so badly to become better, softer, stronger — but life kept grinding me beneath its heel until I began to feel smaller and smaller, like something left outside in the cold.
I had an ex-boyfriend, and I know now that I revolved around him the way planets revolve around fading stars. He was not simply someone I loved; my mind made him into something essential. Three years beside him turned his voice into home, his touch into gravity. Being away from him felt unbearable, while being near him felt like relief after drowning in air too heavy to breathe.
And then, five days ago, I learned that for five months, while I was loving him with my whole soul, he had been giving pieces of himself to someone else. I begged him to stop. God, I begged. But while I was crying for him to choose me, he was calling her from work, telling her he loved her, building tenderness in another woman's hands while I was still trying to keep ours alive. Learning the truth felt less like heartbreak and more like something inside me splitting open.
The betrayal was not just infidelity. It was the collapse of the world I built around him. I trusted him with the rawest parts of me, and he lied so effortlessly it made me question whether any of it had ever been real. And the cruelest part? When I told the other girl the truth — when she learned he had shared a bed and a life with me for three years — she still could not let him go. Five months were enough for her to hold onto him despite everything.
I had to beg her to block him. I had to beg him to show me even the smallest scrap of kindness. I shrank myself down into something desperate, reaching toward people who had already chosen to hurt me.
And still, somehow, it became uglier.
He lied to his family. Told them I hurt him. Told them I attacked him with a pen. Told them I cheated first and that this was only revenge. He rewrote me into someone cruel so he would never have to face the damage he caused.
I feel so unbearably small. I loved him with everything I had — every nerve, every prayer, every shattered little piece of devotion I could pull from myself. I bent my body and soul into impossible shapes just to keep him happy, just to keep him staying, just to be enough. And after all of that, I was still replaceable.
What kind of love makes someone beg for crumbs like a starving animal?
How is it fair that the person who understood me more deeply than anyone else could cut through me as if my heart were nothing at all?
And why, after he destroyed my world, is he still the only person I run to when it hurts?
I had an ex-boyfriend, and I know now that I revolved around him the way planets revolve around fading stars. He was not simply someone I loved; my mind made him into something essential. Three years beside him turned his voice into home, his touch into gravity. Being away from him felt unbearable, while being near him felt like relief after drowning in air too heavy to breathe.
And then, five days ago, I learned that for five months, while I was loving him with my whole soul, he had been giving pieces of himself to someone else. I begged him to stop. God, I begged. But while I was crying for him to choose me, he was calling her from work, telling her he loved her, building tenderness in another woman's hands while I was still trying to keep ours alive. Learning the truth felt less like heartbreak and more like something inside me splitting open.
The betrayal was not just infidelity. It was the collapse of the world I built around him. I trusted him with the rawest parts of me, and he lied so effortlessly it made me question whether any of it had ever been real. And the cruelest part? When I told the other girl the truth — when she learned he had shared a bed and a life with me for three years — she still could not let him go. Five months were enough for her to hold onto him despite everything.
I had to beg her to block him. I had to beg him to show me even the smallest scrap of kindness. I shrank myself down into something desperate, reaching toward people who had already chosen to hurt me.
And still, somehow, it became uglier.
He lied to his family. Told them I hurt him. Told them I attacked him with a pen. Told them I cheated first and that this was only revenge. He rewrote me into someone cruel so he would never have to face the damage he caused.
I feel so unbearably small. I loved him with everything I had — every nerve, every prayer, every shattered little piece of devotion I could pull from myself. I bent my body and soul into impossible shapes just to keep him happy, just to keep him staying, just to be enough. And after all of that, I was still replaceable.
What kind of love makes someone beg for crumbs like a starving animal?
How is it fair that the person who understood me more deeply than anyone else could cut through me as if my heart were nothing at all?
And why, after he destroyed my world, is he still the only person I run to when it hurts?
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